


lights will guide you home

by hapsburgs



Category: Gallagher Girls Series - Ally Carter
Genre: F/M, Gen, friendship actually, post GG6
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-28
Updated: 2013-09-28
Packaged: 2017-12-27 19:47:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,890
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/982905
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapsburgs/pseuds/hapsburgs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I'm..." Her looks down at the table, and for a brief second her fingers brush over her bandaged forearm, and she sighs.<br/>	When her eyes meet his, there's a look in them he's never seen before, and she doesn't have to speak for him to understand.</p>
            </blockquote>





	lights will guide you home

**Author's Note:**

  * For [teesandjays](https://archiveofourown.org/users/teesandjays/gifts), [SHIRLEY MY LOVE](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=SHIRLEY+MY+LOVE).



> so there is actually like 0.00 romantic element to this which is surprising for me? And this is based on the headcanon/ actual fact that Catherine isn't actually dead so yeah.   
> For Shirley, because you're lovely, and tonya, because you're a shit and this is my subtle attempt to get you in to writing me abby/catherine.

He drives for hours down I-95, before taking the exit to Charleston. Once there, he drives an hour north along the coast; it's an absolutely gorgeous day, the sun shining off the water, the white sand nearly blinding him.

He parks his car in the deserted parking lot. The dock is full with fishing boats and private yachts, but he finds the vessel he's looking for at the very end, covered in a tarp.

He knows his arms will be burning by the end of the hour as he slowly pushes off from the dock with the long pole, heading due northeast towards the isolated island. It takes him an hour and a half to reach the island, and he immediately notices how different it looks.

The overgrown grass has been nicely trimmed into gorgeous viridian lawns. Fresh flowers are planted along the new stone path up to the house, which has been repainted. The wood is no longer splintered, and there are two wicker lounges on the massive wraparound deck.

He can hear sweet music drifting through the open windows, and he is not surprised to find the door open.

He steps in quietly onto the shiny new hardwood floor, and he surveys the antique furniture, the new paint on the walls, the restored marble staircase. The whole house is absolutely stunning, and he knows he could spend hours inspecting every single little detail, but at that moment, he decides to follow the music into the parlor.

The old piano has been restored as well, and _she_ is sitting there, hands flying over the keys, her back to him. She's an amazing pianist, and he knows that she is so obsessed with details that she would probably practice over and over again until it was perfect.

The composition is happy and soaring. When she used to play for him, the pieces were always in minor; sad and dramatic. This one fits the magnificent house beautifully, and he waits until she finishes to knock gently on the wall.

Her entire body tenses, clenched like she's ready to spring.

"If I were here to kill you, Catherine, you'd be dead already." He crosses his arms over his chest, leans in the door frame as she relaxes.

"How'd you find me?" She asks quietly as she pulls down the lid over the keys. Her voice sounds so different, he realizes; quiet and fractured and not like her at all.

"I knew you'd survive. And I knew you'd come here." He shrugs, and waits for her to turn. She stands up jerkily; all of her movements are fast and hurried, he realizes.

"Why did you come here, then?" She whispers, hands resting on the piano gently, her shoulders relaxing slightly.

"I don't know." He replies honestly, and he really doesn't. Not out of any concern for her, he tells himself.

When she turns to face him, he doesn't recognize her.

She's so thin, first of all. She was always slim, but now it's obvious she is underweight. Her skin is much too pale, her eyes dark and dead. She looks frail, he thinks, and though he refuses to look at him in the eyes, he can see that her eyes are filled with such emotion - he wonders what demons are tormenting her now.

There's also white bandages wrapped around her left forearm.

"What's that?" He nods at them, taking cautious steps towards her, worrying that at any moment she could leap on him, rip him open through the middle to see what's inside.

"Nothing." She brushes him off, starting to turn away but he catches her shoulder. Though she's wearing a sweater, she's freezing, and he can feel all of her bones through the fabric.

He sends her a reproachful look, and she lets him take her arm. He unwraps the bandages carefully, and he sucks in a harsh breath as he takes in the livid pink scars decorating her skin.

"It was an accident." The answer sounds completely rehearsed, like she's trying to tell herself that.

"How long ago did you...?" He can't finish his question, and this fingers run over the healing skin softly.

"A few months?" She shrugs. "It's not a big deal, I'm fine now."

"Why?" He breathes, and he can't take his eyes off of those pink scars; he can practically see the dark red blood pouring out of them now.

"Believe it or not, it is very hard to be me, Edward." She laughs slightly. "And after the...incident at Gallagher, I felt very, very alone. I didn't know what to do with myself."

"Have you tried since?"

"No," She says strongly, and he finally looks up at her; there's a slight annoyance in her eyes, almost wondering why he's asking so many questions. "The lovely doctors at the hospital put me on so many medications. Of course, none of them are really particularly effective, but they make things more...tolerable."

"How are you now?" He lets go of her arm, and shifts nervously, because now he's uncomfortably close to her.

"Still lonely." She crosses her arms. "I haven't really felt lonely since my time at school." He raises an eyebrow, urging her to elaborate. "I've been trying to keep myself busy, however." She gestures around the room. "I redid the house. Had to start spending all of my inheritance on something."

"Why don't you move somewhere else? A city?" He suggests, hands in his pockets.

"I don't have anywhere else to go." She admits. "I've burned all my bridges a long time ago, Townsend. And besides...this is my home." He doesn't speak, but it doesn't make sense to him; when Catherine has mentioned her home to him, it was never with any sentimentality.

* * *

"I've been travelling." She mentions over coffee, legs folded casually under her.

"Really?"

"I just got back from Italy. I was in Rome for a month." She tells him.

"Doing?" Edward inquires hesitantly, and she laughs.

"Being a total tourist, of course. You know, when you're being a spy you miss all the wonderful attractions of the places you're visiting." She says.

"How was Rome?"

"Wonderful." She grins. "The Forum, the Spanish Steps, the Colosseum. And the art; the Pieta, the Creation of Man on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel - and oh, the School of Athens! I've been thinking about sneaking in some time to put my own verison next to it. What do you think?"

She shuffles in her folders, before pulling out two replicas of the painting. One is almost exact; it's stunning, and up close, he can see all the details in it.

The other is drawn with crayons.

It saddens him, but what saddens him more is that her question is not in jest; she's perfectly serious.

"We don't have to decide now." She explains when he doesn't respond. "But I did meet someone while I was there."

"A man?"

"His name was Lazzaro. He modeled, and he wanted to marry me." She sips her coffee, and Edward scoffs slightly.

"Is this before or after you slept with him?" He asks, and she bites her lip.

"It didn't go anywhere. He said he will not give up until he finds me again, but we both know that won't happen." Her smile is a little sad.

"Tell me honestly; how are you?" He explicitly asks; that was the only reason he was here, wasn't it?

"Do you really care?" She counters, her thumb circling the rim of her mug, and he doesn't responds because he doesn't quite know how. "I'm..." Her looks down at the table, and for a brief second her fingers brush over her bandaged forearm, and she sighs.

When her eyes meet his, there's a look in them he's never seen before, and she doesn't have to speak for him to understand.

* * *

He goes to visit her often. He tells Abby that he's visiting family, and she gives him a rather displeased look but doesn't ask questions.

He tells himself over and over again that he doesn't actually have _feelings_ for her. Not anymore, anyway. But he couldn't help but worry about her. She meant everything to him, once, and besides, she was the mother of his _son_.

_(He also has this savior complex, like he needs to rescue her from her own mind and make her better again, but he doesn't like to think about that)_

So he makes frequent trips to South Carolina and each time he knocks on her door his stomach clenches, because he doesn't know if she's there to even answer.

* * *

"I used to build sand castles all the time here, when I was little." She tells him as they sit on the beach. She's digging her hands into the sand, making a pile besides them. "But no matter how hard I tried, they always ended up falling down."

He watches her carefully, smiles gently at the childlike joy in her eyes as she shapes out the towers, digs a moat, and painstakingly uses a small shell to make the appearance of stones. It takes _forever_ , and he doesn't know how she could sit there, so focused on one thing.

"There," She presses a shell into the front as a door, and takes a step back. "A work of art."

It is impressive, truly - swirling spires and battlements. It even has a siege tower, _just in case_. But instead of admiring the sand castle, he watches her; watches the smile on her face fade and the light leave her eyes as she circles it slowly.

"Catherine -" But it's too late; suddenly, her foot is making contact with the sand castle and it's destroyed. "Why -"

"It's a childish thing to care about. It's just sand." She says, her voice far away. Her eyes meet his quickly, her tone sharp. "I want to go home now, Edward."

"Let's go, Catherine." He sighs tiredly, and tries his best to understand but sometimes it's so _hard._ "Let's go home."

* * *

"There's a storm coming." She announces. Almost on cue, thunder booms and the rain begins to come down in sheets. They're sitting on the front porch. Oddly enough, there's no wind, so they avoid getting wet. "I've always liked thunderstorms."

"Why do I not find that surprising?" He whispers, kicking his foot gently and letting the swing rock gently. She laughs gently, her knees bumping against his as they swing.

The air is humid and heavy, and it makes everything seem hazy and it makes _him_ feel tired. He yawns lazily, and her eyes narrow a fraction.

"Are you bored of me already, Edward?" She asks icily, and he blinks but is not particularly surprised because only Catherine would be slighted by someone yawning.

"Of course not." He insists.

"I'm not dragging you here by force. It's your decision if you want to keep coming here, not mine." Her voice starts out strong, but it cracks at the end.

"I'll keep coming as long as you want me." He tells her, linking her fingers in his. There's a silence, and his thumb rubs over the bandages on her wrist again. The skin has long healed, but she kept the bandages on anyway, telling him _I don't want to see it_. "I like the rain, too."

"Zach always hated it." She says abruptly. "He was so afraid of the storms he'd have to sleep downstairs." She looks up at him, eyes hopeful. "Can you bring him next time you come? I have all these Nerf guns now - he used to love them when he was younger."

"I don't think so, Catherine." He admits carefully, and she looks down.

"Of course not. He _hates_ me. And he thinks I'm dead. He's probably happier than he's ever been." She says bitterly, and his heart pangs because it's kind of true.

"You still have me." He reminds her, fingers tightening around hers.

"I don't have anyone else."

The rain pounds harder.

* * *

"I can't believe you get cable out here." He grumbles, flicking through the channels.

"Just chose something already, my god." She huffs, flopping down onto the bed in the master bedroom next to him.

"Fine then." He pretends to be exasperated, and she laughs.

And that's how they end up watching Arthur.

"Zach used to love this show." She informs him, and his heart pangs because he feels like he's missed out on so _much_.

"What kind of animal is he supposed to be again?" Edward asks her as Arthur, D.W., and Buster prance across the screen.

"Who the hell knows." She shrugs, eyelids drooping. "It's better than that show with the kid with the football head."

"Whatever happened to the Looney Tunes? The Jetsons?" He reclines steeper onto the bed, and she turns into his side, head resting on his chest and legs splayed over his.

"You're like a big teddy bear, Edward. Or a body pillow." She yawns, and he rolls his eyes slightly because she already has a ton of stuffed animals all over her house, and he has no idea why she insists on cuddling him.

"Do you only keep me around to cuddle?"

"Of course not, but I'd be lying if I said it wasn't one of the reasons." She laughs lowly as she drifts off to sleep, and he follows soon after.

But when he wakes up in the middle of the night, she's not lying next to him. He gets up with a sigh, knowing exactly where she'll be because she's there almost every night.

He walks by rooms filled with half finished artworks and old books, the bathroom, who's counter is covered with a slew of prescriptions (anti depressants, anti-OCD, anti anxiety, anti psychotics) for her, a gym, an empty space for judo, fencing, archery.

He finds her downstairs, though, looking out the big bay windows to the ocean beyond. Her arms are wrapped tightly around her, and when he joins her, he notices tears shining in her eyes, and the look on her face breaks his heart because he wants to help her but he doesn't know _how_.

"Catherine -" He reaches for her and her face crumbles, her arms around his torso in a heartbeat, his shoulder muffling her sobs. He can feel her shaking and he runs a hand gently through her hair, hoping it's soothing.

He closes his eyes, wishing he can just tell her everything is going to be alright and it _will_ be, but they both know it won't be. Her more than anyone.

* * *

"How was Kabul?"

He's surprised to find Abby up, waiting for him, considering it's two in the morning and she usually sleeps like a rock.

"Fine." He lies, setting his jacket on the counter and she snaps her newspaper closed harshly, and that's when he _knows_ he's in for it.

"You weren't in Kabul." She says slowly, and he gulps. "You've been away a lot recently, lying about where you've been going."

"Abby-"

"Is there...someone else?" He hates how her voice breaks at the end, her eyes shining with tears and he feels so guilty.

"No, of course not." He shakes his head.

"Is there something wrong with me then? Have I been doing something wrong?" She whispers, standing up shakily and he takes her hands in desperation because he _can not_ lose her.

"No, absolutely not. I've just been...helping out a friend, that's all." He insists.

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Abby raises an eyebrow in confusion.

"It's complicated." He sighs

"Then uncomplicate it." She says through her teeth, and he can't meet her eyes.

"I can't explain it to you now." He sees the look on her face, and immediately begins to back pedal. "You can come next time I go to visit them, if you want. They wouldn't...mind."

"Fine, then. I will." Abby resolves, and all he can think is _fuck_.

* * *

"Where are we going, Edward?" Abby huffs in frustration, legs moving restlessly as they drive along the highway.

"Be patient, Abigail." He grumbles, and she murmurs something that sounds suspiciously like 'fuck off'.

"Why are we here?" She freezes as they pull up to they dock.

He doesn't answer as he exits the car with their bags, and heads to the small boat at the end.

"She's alive, isn't she?" Abby looks down at him as he sits in the boat, her face a mask of contained anger. He looks away. " _Fuck,_ Edward-"

"You don't understand, Abby. She's...not well." He urges. "She's _ill_. She needs help."

"But that doesn't mean _you_ have to help her." Abby chastises, but jumps into the boat anyway.

The boat ride is long and uncomfortable, until she asks,

"Zach doesn't know, does he?"

"Of course not." Edward snaps, perhaps too sharply.

"...Did you love her?" Her voice is far away, and when he looks up she's just staring at her feet.

"Yes." He says honestly, because he _did,_ so much it hurts to even think about. "And in some way, I still do. I always will." Her eyes meet his, full of pain but also understanding. "I have to try to help her, Abigail."

"She's beyond help, Edward." Abby whispers as they pull up to the island.

"Don't..." He replies as he helps her out of the boat. "Don't say that."

It's a gorgeous day, a light breeze ruffling their hair as they approach the front door. Suddenly, Abby's hand is locked in his tightly.

"She won't hurt you, Abby." He assures her, and when he opens the door and calls her name, there's no answer and his heart stops because _what if he finds a body instead of her laughter, her smile_?

"She's cleaned the place up." Abby looks around in approval, and all of a sudden he can hear something that sounds like _rolling._

"Edward!" And then emerges Catherine, who happens to be _skateboarding_ down the stairs. "I've learned how to skateboard. Watch!"

She jumps off the bannister, the skateboard flipping, and while she lands the trick, her body is moving too fast and the skateboard is moving too slow, and she launches off of it. He grabs her before she falls, and that's when he sees the newer, darker scars on the top of her wrists, away from any veins.

"I've also learned how to play the violin, you have to see!" She doesn't realize anything is wrong, about to bound away, but he catches her arm.

"Catherine, I've brought a friend."

"Your _girl_ friend, you mean." Catherine smirks slightly before turning to look at Abby. "Hello, Abigail."

Abby's eyes are wandering the massive foyer. The white walls are covered in her paintings; some are masterpieces, that should belong next to Monets and Picassos, and others are made with crayons; sad stick figures and crudely drawn clouds. The walls have been painted over and over again to create a new canvas.

"Hi, Catherine." Abby's eyes finally find Catherine's, and Edward notices how Catherine takes a hesitant step towards him, as if she's _afraid_ of what Abby will do. Abby doesn't miss this, either. "I just wanted to see how you are."

"I'm fine." Catherine murmurs, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Will you show me some of your paintings?" Abby asks, taking Catherine's hand gently. Catherine tenses, but slowly relaxes, nodding.

Edward smiles.

* * *

"What is she doing?" Abby mumbles in to her pillow as they wake up to the sound of creaking wood; Catherine padding carefully down the stairs.

"Why don't you find out?" Edward replies, and Abby grumbles but slowly gets out of bed. He follows her ten seconds later, watches her walk down the stairs and out the front door to the porch, sit down right next to Catherine on the swing. Their knees are bumping together, and after a half a second, Abby places a hand on her back.

He couldn't be prouder.

And on the drive back to Washington, she says,

"We have to do something about her, Edward."

Notice it's _we_ instead of _he_.

* * *

And five months later, they go to visit her in Switzerland.

She greets them both with a massive hug.

"On the clear days, you can see the mountains reflected in the lake! And they let me paint as much as I want." She rambles on, grabbing their hands and dragging them through immaculately kept gardens. Across the lawns, they can see other patients scattered about, either with other family members or with doctors.

Later, they meet with the head of her treatment team.

"She has made significant progress." He smiles kindly, and Edward's heart soars. "But you know she will never be able to leave here."

Silence.

"What do you mean?" Abby asks quietly.

"She will be here the rest of her life. She will never be stable enough to leave." The doctor says sadly. "It would not be safe for society, and it would not be safe for _her_ either." His eye's meet Edwards. "Though it pains me to say it, Catherine will never leave Switzerland."

* * *

"What do you mean, 'I can never leave'?" Catherine's eyesbrows knot in confusion as she plops comfortably on her bed. "I was under the impression that this was a temporary arrangement."

Edward is about to tell her what the doctor says, but Abby speaks first.

"You know it is not safe for you out there, Catherine." Abby says gently, placing a hand over Catherine's, but she jerks away.

"This is your idea of taking care of me?" Catherine seethes. "Locking me up _here_? Dropping me off at the island of misfit toys because you don't think I can _HANDLE MYSELF_?" She's shouting. " _I will die here!_ "

"This is what's best for you, Catherine." Edward insists.

"Like you would know what's best for me." She scoffs. "I will never go home again." Her voice cracks.

"Catherine -"

"Leave. Get out." She orders, pointing towards the door. "Get. Out."

"Please, Catherine -" Abby pleas.

` " _Get out_!" She screams, and she slams the door behind them.

* * *

"You were right." She whispers to him. For five months, she had denied their visits. And just when he had lost all hope, she acquiesced, and he went to visit her alone.

"About?"

"This is the best place for me." She swallows, brushing her hair out of her face as she reclines on the bench. "I...wanted to try again, because the possibility of being here for the rest of my life was incomprehensible, but then I realized that I needed to be here, to get better. But not better, I guess. To just...be normal. As normal as I can be."

She eyes the gorgeous lake in front of them, the tulips swaying in the breeze. "And besides, there are worse places to live than the Swiss Alps."

"What about escaping?"

"I could, but I won't." She informs him. "I don't want to."

"Good." Edward nods, and smiles.

"Thank you, then. For being a good friend. You and Abby...you did the right thing." She whispers, and seriously, that's the nicest thing she's heard leave her lips. "You'll keep visiting me, right? You and Abby?"

"Of course." He laughs. "Always."

"Could you bring Zach, next time? Please?" She asks hesitantly. "I...I need to see him, Edward. I need to tell him that..." She can't finish her sentence.

"I will, Catherine." He agrees. "I will."


End file.
